Package deal
by Joanlockaholic
Summary: Five scenes describing Sherlock and Joan's partnership. The last two of them are borderline joanlock.


A/N: These five scenes stand individually, except the fifth scene is continuation to the fourth one. Feedback is highly appreciated. Enjoy...

* * *

 **1\. We are a package deal**

Sherlock was standing in the doorway of the kitchen, staring at Joan, who was chopping some vegetables for Clyde.

"Sherlock, you don't need me with this," Joan said between clacks which the knife in her hand made against the chopping board. "I'm sure you can solve this by yourself."

"While I understand your reluctance and the danger which lies beneath this case, I assure you Watson, they hired me as in we. We are a package deal. They can't have one without the other."

Joan put the chopped vegetables into Clyde's habitat, which was standing firmly on the kitchen table. She sighed.

"We might get killed. It's not safe to get involved with a drug gang," Joan said.

"That's true, but I assure you, our limbs shall remain attached to our torsos. But, if you do exactly as I say."

Joan rolled her eyes.

Sherlock waited for an answer of some sort.

"Okay, fine. I'll do it, but–"

"Excellent," Sherlock exclaimed, and stepped closer to Joan to take off her beige apron. "We must start immediately. First, we have to come up with proper aliases." He grabbed her from her shoulders and led her towards the stairs.

"Aliases?"

"For myself, I was thinking about Sean Willis."

"Sean Willis?" Joan asked amused, while walking up the stairs.

"For you, however, I was thinking more of a Chinese name."

Joan turned around to face him.

"What is your Chinese name anyway?" he asked, now staring at her in her eyes.

"No-one uses my Chinese name. Not even my mother," Joan said and turned around.

"Well, that should be perfect then," Sherlock said and walked after her. He waited for her answer, but she said nothing. "Well, don't worry, I will figure it out sooner than later."

Joan scoffed slightly and kept walking up the stairs to her room.

"Soon we all know your Chinese name."

Joan turned around to face him.

"You all?"

"Well, you know... me, Clyde. Angus. Even the bees."

Joan rolled her eyes.

"See what I mean. You can tell me. Your 'secret' stays safe with me." Joan stopped in front of her room and turned around.

"Well, as you said, you will figure it out eventually. I'll leave you to it." She stepped into her room and closed the door behind her.

"So, did that mean that if and when I figure out your Chinese name, we can use it for our case?" Sherlock asked and waited for an answer. "Watson?"

* * *

 **2\. Wherever I go**

Joan and Sherlock were sitting in a big office room, their eyes fixated on the huge glass windows and the beautiful scenery of lower Manhattan.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" Sherlock asked, but Joan didn't have time to answer when their attention was drawn towards the man who had just entered the room.

They got up and faced the man in a highly expensive suit and shoes.

"Sherlock Holmes, I presume," the man said and shook Sherlock's hand. "Jerome Boyd," he introduced himself. Then he looked at Joan, who was standing next to Sherlock. "And you must be Mr. Holmes' assistant. May I ask you to step outside for a moment? My situation is rather delicate and I don't feel comfortable to share my... problem with everyone."

Sherlock and Joan were staring at Mr. Boyd, who was holding the door for her.

"Excuse me?" Joan managed to say, after her strongest feelings of "I'm gonna kill that bastard" had dissipated.

Mr. Boyd looked at her, slightly confused.

"Mr. Boyd," Sherlock said and stepped a bit closer to him. "May I introduce you to my partner Miss Joan Watson."

Mr. Boyd smiled at her and nodded. "Well, Miss Watson, if you could excuse us for–"

"Which part of, a partner, you didn't understand?" Sherlock asked, now inches away from Mr. Boyd.

He didn't say anything.

"You see, if you hire me, you also hire Miss Watson. We come as a package deal of a sort. So wherever I go, she comes with me. And if she steps out of this room, so will I."

Joan was now smiling, and blushing slightly.

"I see," Mr. Boyd said, and fixed his coat. "Maybe it would be better then, if you both left."

Sherlock nodded stepped back towards Joan.

"Let's get going, Watson," Sherlock said and opened the door for her. When she had stepped outside, he turned around to face Mr. Boyd. "And you, Mr. Boyd, just spent two hours of my valuable time. To thank you, I could tell your wife that you're cheating her with your colleague's assistant." With that, he closed the door, and turned to Joan, who looped her arm with his, as they started walking towards the elevators.

After a few seconds, the door behind them opened.

"Mr. Holmes!" Mr. Boyd yelled, agitated.

"What did you say to him?" Joan whispered in his ear.

"Just keep walking," Sherlock mumbled, and led Joan quickly into an elevator.

* * *

 **3\. And that's your cue to come in**

Sherlock walked into a huge office room, a brown folder tucked under his left arm.

"Mrs. Brennan," he greeted and stepped in front of a huge wooden table.

"Mr. Holmes," she greeted, and leaned back in her big office chair. "What a surprise. How did you get in?"

"No-one saw me entering the premises," Sherlock said and grabbed the file to his hands.

"Well, that's a shame," she sighed, and before Sherlock could do anything, Mrs. Brennan was standing in front of him, a gun with a silencer pointed at his head.

"You're not gonna kill me," Sherlock said, staring at Mrs. Brennan in the eye.

"What makes you think that?" she asked, stepping closer to him, the gun still pointed straight at him.

"It's a small office, no place to hide my body, let alone the fact that you would have to carry me out of here. Would be rather hard to explain a dead body you're carrying through the building to your colleagues, wouldn't it?"

Mrs. Brennan laughed coldly. "You have no idea how easy it would be to pay someone to carry your body out of here. I'm sure my assistant would love to have a half a million dollar bonus to do that. And in the last case, I would carry you out by myself, a piece by piece."

Sherlock swallowed slightly and stepped back.

"Okay, I could believe you," Sherlock said and nodded. "But by killing me, you would still be in trouble. I've already told the police everything I–"

"You have told nothing," Mrs. Brennan cut him off. "You came here to show me the evidence, so you could observe me. If you had more evidence, they would be here with you."

Sherlock gulped. Mrs. Brennan hadn't bought his bluff. "If you're gonna kill me, you're gonna get killed too."

Mrs. Brennan laughed once again.

"And why's that?"

Sherlock stared at the gun point and swallowed hard. Then he stepped back towards the window, his soon to be killer's back now facing the door.

"After I told you that no-one saw me entering the premises, you concluded that I'm alone," Sherlock started. "But to be honest, you're wrong."

"What do you mean?"

"I'm kind of like... a package deal." Sherlock's eyes averted to the door, where now was standing Joan Watson, holding a gun, which was pointed straight at Mrs. Brennan.

"If you're gonna shoot him, I assure you, I'm gonna be the next one shooting someone dead in this room," Joan said as coldly as she could.

Mrs. Brennan soon saw her defeat and dropped the gun on the floor. Sherlock quickly acted out and grabbed Mrs. Brennan from her wrists, pulling a pair of handcuffs from his back pocket and cuffing her to her work desk.

Joan also dropped her gun, and crumbled shaking on the floor. Sherlock kicked Mrs. Brennan's gun away from her reach and quickly walked to Joan and knelt down beside her.

"Did you notify Gregson?" he asked.

Joan nodded. "I sent the text," she whispered, staring at the far end of the room. "I was so scared."

"It's okay now," Sherlock said, holding her from her shoulders. "It's okay."

* * *

 **4\. It's not the flames I'm afraid of**

Joan coughed, brushing away some sweat and soot from her forehead. She slumped on the floor, leaning against the dirty, warm wall behind her.

"Watson, you need to get up," Sherlock encouraged her, but she was slowly losing her consciousness of her surroundings.

Sherlock knelt in front of her, trying to get her attention.

"We need to get out of here," he said, out of breath. The lack of oxygen was making him dizzy too. "We need to get out of here."

Joan grabbed his and in hers and coughed.

"Go," she whispered, trying to look at him in the eye. "I'll be fine."

Sherlock shook his head and took her face in his hands. "You will die."

"If you don't go now, so will you."

The wild flames were crackling loudly around them, quickly consuming them, if they didn't do something.

Joan looked at him in the eye, a tear falling down her cheek.

"Go."

Sherlock looked at her left ankle, which was swollen and purple.

"If you don't run out of this building now, you will never get out of here alive," Joan said, pulling herself away from his touch. Her coughing fits were getting worse and worse.

"I will carry you out of here," Sherlock said and tried to pick her up, but his muscles wouldn't have enough strength to get her up. "I won't leave you here." He tried again, but to no avail.

"It's no use, Sherlock," Joan whispered. "I cannot walk." She pulled her injured ankle closer to her body.

Sherlock leaned against the wall and pulled her small frame to him, shielding her away from all evil.

"What are you doing?" she asked, breathing against his sweaty shirt.

"I'm not going to leave you behind," Sherlock said and kissed her temple. "A package deal, remember?"

Joan smiled slightly, her tears wetting his shirt.

"There's no Holmes, without his Watson," he whispered to her ear, and cradled her head, his tears wetting her hair.

After a few moments, Sherlock could hear distant banging and yelling. He opened his eyes, focusing on his smoky surroundings.

"We're here!" he tried to yell, but only a soft wheeze could be heard. He tried again and coughed loudly, before he lost his consciousness.

* * *

 **5\. My other half**

Joan woke up to a beeping sound on her left. The bright fluorescent lights were brightly shining through her eyelids. She opened her eyes and saw a figure sitting on her bed.

"Watson," the figure whispered. The sight became clearer and soon she could make out the facial features of her beloved partner.

"Sherlock," she whispered, her voice sounded raspy and her throat hurt.

"Shh, it's okay," he assured her, now slowly stroking her left arm. "We're okay."

Joan could see him clearly now. He was wearing a hospital gown, his right hand holding his movable IV stand, where his right hand was attached to.

"We're alive," she said and smiled brightly.

"Yes, we are," Sherlock said, leaning towards her. "We are very much alive. And very much together."

"Any skin burns?" she asked, now looking at him from head to toe.

"No burns. However, you ankle needs rest for the next week or so. The doctors said it has sprained rather badly, but no surgery needed."

Joan looked at her wrapped ankle. Then she took her hand in his.

"You have no idea how much I care about you," she said and gave him a kiss on his cheek.

"And you, my dear Watson, are so important to me, that I have no idea how I would survive of life without you," Sherlock said and wrapped his hands around hers.

Joan smiled and laid her head back on the pillows.

Sherlock laid his head next to hers, and soon they drifted off to content slumber, side by side.

And if the doctors would have to take one of them somewhere, they would have to take the other one with them. After all, Sherlock and Joan were a package deal.

* * *

As I said, any feedback or comment is highly appreciated. Thank you for reading my short story. :)


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